


Kindred Spirits

by BroomballKraken



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Blood, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:21:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25006858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BroomballKraken/pseuds/BroomballKraken
Summary: Those who are born bearing the crests of the ten elites are easily identified, as they all have them branded somewhere on their bodies. Most are lucky enough to have them somewhere easily hidden, but Sylvain has no such luxury. His hatred for his crest brand reaches a breaking point while he is alone one night at the training grounds, but he is luckily stumbled upon by Lorenz, and Sylvain finds out that he might have more in common with his insufferable rival than he thought.
Relationships: Sylvain Jose Gautier/Lorenz Hellman Gloucester
Comments: 2
Kudos: 56





	Kindred Spirits

**Author's Note:**

> Idk this is a dumb AU idea that popped into my head one day and I finally decided to write something for it. Anyway, just mind the warnings in some of the tags lads, and thanks for reading!

It was a pleasant summer night at Garrag Mach, and it was late enough that most of the students and faculty were already in bed or getting ready to follow suit. However, not every student was in the mood to retire for the evening, and Sylvain was one of those students.

As the training ground’s lone occupant, Sylvain was free to beat the stuffing out of any and all of the training dummies, and he was making a valiant effort to do so. He let out a frustrated yell as he jabbed his lance into the dummy before him, striking it in the chest and splitting it in half, sending its splintered remains flying off in every direction. Panting heavily, Sylvain grit his teeth and moved to the next unfortunate dummy, ready to pummel it if it meant distracting him from his dangerous thoughts.

It had been an average day for Sylvain, consisting of flitting from one girl to the next, trying to charm them while being mostly unsuccessful...that is, until they caught a glimpse of the glow of his crest, branded in clear view for everyone to see on the front of his neck. Then, the girl in question would abruptly change her tone, going on the flirting offensive. How fucking typical.

Sylvain's yell was more forceful this time, and he rend the training dummy’s head from its shoulders. It always happened like clockwork because of this godsdamn crest of his. Even if he had been genuinely interested in any of the girls he was after, he knew that they only wanted him for one thing. His stupid fucking crest.

Ever since he was born, and his parents saw that glowing crest of Gautier branded on his neck, his fate had been sealed. His brand-less, crestless brother was cast aside, and Sylvain was put on a pedestal, made to flaunt his status as heir to House Gautier. It got worse when he got older, as girls started to take notice of his crest and they always tried to get close to him, feigning interest in him because of who he was as a person. He knew better. They only wanted to bear his crest babies as a means to gain his wealth and future political power. Fuck all of them.

It especially hurt today, as he had actually overheard a few of his female classmates speaking about him, arguing about who should be the one to seduce the son of Margrave Gautier. They gushed about his crest and good looks, as if that was all that he was good for...as if he would turn into an empty husk of a person if those two qualities of his were stripped away.

And maybe they were right. Tears pricked at the corners of Sylvain’s eyes as he obliterated the last remaining dummy, and he threw his lance to the ground with a strangled cry. He kicked it for good measure, sending it skimming across the ground, and he stalked over to the nearest pillar, bracing his hands against the cold stone.

_‘If I seduce him, just imagine the fame and riches that await me.’_

_‘I’m the only one good looking enough to pair with him!’_

_‘Oh so what if he’s a flirt? All that matters is that crest of his.’_

As each painful memory of what he had overheard those girls saying played through his head again, Sylvain smacked his forehead against the pillar, the tears he had been trying to hold back falling in a steady stream down his face. He was nothing more than a crest stud to them, to anyone. How could anyone care about Sylvain, when no one took the time to actually get to know him for who he was as a person? He hated those women for that, but he mostly hated himself, and his stupid fucking crest that had the gall to manifest in a place on his skin where he couldn’t hide it easily.

“This...fucking...crest…” Sylvain hissed through grit teeth as he spun around and slammed his back against the pillar, slowly sliding down until he was sitting on the ground. His shaking hands moved to grip his neck, and he slowly clenched his fists so that his fingernails grazed over the spot where he knew the Gautier brand he hated so much glowed faintly on his skin in the dim evening light. This curse that he had been born with, the only thing that anyone would ever like about him. He. Wanted. It. _Gone._

“ _Fuck this!_ ” Sylvain suddenly screamed, and he raked his fingers hard over the brand on his neck, so hard in fact that his nails easily sliced open his skin. He hardly noticed the pain, or the sticky wetness of the blood that coated his fingers with every new laceration that his nails rendered upon his neck. He clawed, and clawed, and continued clawing at his brand, desperate to rid himself of his crest by any means necessary, even though he knew deep down that it was futile. He didn’t care. A fog had overtaken his mind that blocked out the pain, his screaming, his crying, his surroundings, and anything else that wasn’t the dire need to erase the brand from his body.

“-vain!”

As Sylvain continued to scream and claw at his neck, a faint voice pierced through the fog, though he couldn’t quite make out who they were or what they were saying. Sylvain didn’t care; they were probably here to mock him, to tell him more lies about how they didn’t just like him for his crest, that he was actually someone worth loving for who he was. How utterly cruel and malicious of them.

“-Sylvain, stop it!”

Sylvain suddenly found his hands frozen in place, and the fog clouding his mind started to dissipate. His screaming subsided, and his eyes began to focus again through a veil of tears. The purple blur in front of him turned out to be a pair of amethyst eyes, and there was only one person that those particular eyes could have belonged to.

“L-Lorenz…?”

The words came out strangled and hoarse, and Sylvain immediately tried to back away from his insufferable rival, who was kneeling in front him with his face way too close for comfort. However, Sylvain was stopped by the pillar against his back, and the fact that Lorenz had a tight hold on his wrists.

“L-Let go of me!” Sylvain growled, trying to tug himself free. Lorenz really was the last person that he would ever want to see him like this - so broken, so worthless, so _utterly pathetic_ \- and Sylvain’s chest tightened with embarrassment and shame. Lorenz just stared at him, and he did not budge, causing Sylvain’s blood to boil with anger.

“I will not let go,” Lorenz said calmly, “unless you promise to stop hurting yourself.” Sylvain swallowed thickly, wincing as the movement caused a searing pain to erupt from his mangled neck. He stole a glance down at his hands, and a wave of nausea washed over his stomach when he saw how much blood coated his fingers, and the bits of skin that were caught under his nails. Sylvain chewed at his bottom lip for a moment, before he finally relented.

“Fine...I promise…” he mumbled, averting his gaze. Lorenz loosened his grip on Sylvain’s wrists, but he only released one, and Sylvain looked back up at him, confused. He watched silently as Lorenz plucked a handkerchief out of his pocket and began cleaning the mess that was Sylvain’s hand.

“What the hell are you doing?” Sylvain blurted out, eyes narrowing with suspicion. Lorenz rolled his eyes as he continued to gently wipe Sylvain’s hand clean.

“You’ve made a terrible mess of yourself, so I am doing you a favor and cleaning it up.” Lorenz said bluntly, and Sylvain barked out a humorless laugh and sneered at him.

“I don’t need help, especially from you.” Sylvain hissed, and Lorenz snorted as he dropped Sylvain’s hand and picked up the other.

“Just shut up for once in your life. Your screaming damn near frightened me to death, you know. It’s the least you can do.”

“Fuck off.”

Sylvain glared at Lorenz, who glared back for a moment, but looked down as he finished cleaning Sylvain’s hand. Lorenz then suddenly lifted the cloth to Sylvain’s neck, and he bristled in response.

“Hold still, this might hurt.” Lorenz said, and Sylvain wanted to say something snarky, but he held his tongue; he knew it wouldn’t do him any good to argue further. He winced when Lorenz brushed the handkerchief over his torn up neck, and after Lorenz cleaned Sylvain up and removed the blood-soaked cloth, he replaced it with his free hand. Sylvain glanced down to see that Lorenz’s hand had started glowing with a white light, and Sylvain’s neck began to feel tingly. The pain faded, and he was hit with the familiar, warm feeling of healing magic stitching up his skin. Sylvain remained silent, and before long, Lorenz lowered his hand and moved to sit beside him. They sat without saying a word for a while, until Sylvain couldn’t stand the agonizing silence any longer.

“You...I thought you were more of a reason magic guy,” Sylvain said, and Lorenz let out a soft chuckle.

“Well, yes. Reason magic is my specialty, but I find that even the most basic of faith spells can come in handy. It surely did just now.” he said, and Sylvain frowned as stared at the ground.

“Yeah...thanks for that,” Sylvain mumbled, his cheeks suddenly feeling quite warm, “And sorry for freaking you out.”

“It is no trouble. I am just...glad you are alright. I was worried when I heard you scream, and then the blood…” Lorenz trailed off, and Sylvain snorted as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Yeah, it was pretty stupid of me. As if I’d actually be able to get rid of this stupid fucking crest by clawing it off.” Sylvain spat, his anger from earlier starting to resurface. His hands clenched into fists as he turned his head to look at Lorenz, a bitter smile crossing Sylvain’s face.

“It must be nice,” he mused, his eyes wandering over Lorenz’s exposed skin on his face, neck, and hands, “to have your brand in a place that is easily hidden. You’re a lucky bastard.” Lorenz was silent for a moment, before he scoffed and shot Sylvain a cold glare.

“You should not talk as if you know what others have been through, Sylvain.” Lorenz said, an icy venom to his tone that made Sylvain’s eyes widen in shock. Lorenz stared at him for a moment, before he sighed and turned his head away from Sylvain.

“You know, before I traveled here to attend the Academy,” Lorenz said as he slowly lifted a hand to the back of his head, “my hair had never, ever been allowed to grow anywhere close this long. I...never learned how to style longer hair...” Sylvain’s bow furrowed in confusion, but that confusion was replaced with genuine shock when Lorenz pushed up the hair that sat over his undercut.

There, glowing ever-so-faintly against the skin at the back of his head, was the unmistakable crest of Gloucester.

“You...oh…” Sylvain mumbled lamely, his thoughts a jumbled mess at the moment from this shocking revelation. Lorenz let his hair fall back into place as he turned to Sylvain, and he was surprised to see a familiar look of pain and loneliness in those amethyst eyes; it was the same look that Sylvain saw in his own eyes every time he saw his reflection.

“It’s funny,” Lorenz said, but Sylvain caught no trace of humor in the tone of his voice, “For as long as I can remember, I always thought that my father had my best interest in mind. The first time that I broke down crying, begging him not to shave my head again, he hit me so hard that I saw stars for hours after the fact. I could not have been older than five years.” Sylvain’s face paled slightly as Lorenz spoke, and his hands clenched into fists again, the anger still festering inside of him shifting to a different target.

“Until I came here, I was utterly brainwashed by my father, and thought that everything he did was for the good of our house, and the people residing in Gloucester territory. But alas, I’ve discovered now that he only cares for his own reputation, and paraded me around all these years to show off my crest, like I was just an object to him.” Lorenz rambled on, and an onslaught of guilt suddenly hit Sylvain like a sack of bricks. He had been so quick to judge Lorenz when he first met him, to write him off as a stuck-up noble prick, but Sylvain was seeing a completely different side to Lorenz now.

“Ah, hey…” Sylvain said when Lorenz fell silent, “I’m...sorry, Lorenz.”

“For what?” Lorenz asked, an eyebrow quirking up with curiosity.

“Well, I’ve kinda been an asshole to you ever sense we met, and uh, I’ve said some shitty things and made stupid assumptions about you. So, that’s what I’m sorry for.”

“Oh…” Lorenz said, and a thoughtful look crossed his face, before a small smile graced his lips, “Well, I do accept your apology, and offer my own as well. I’m afraid that I have done the same thing to you.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it.” Sylvain said, matching Lorenz’s smile with one of his own, “We’ve both been through a lot of shit because of our crests, huh?”

“Indeed. Ah, speaking of that, and do tell me if I am overstepping, but...how are you faring after that business with Miklan?” Lorenz asked, and Sylvain appreciated his hesitation.

“I’m...better than I thought I’d be, really.” Sylvain said honestly, “Miklan was always an ass to me. But I sometimes think about if we would have had a better relationship if he was the one with the crest instead of me. Or if neither of us had them.” Sylvain sighed and shook his head. He knew that it would do him no good to think of such things now; he couldn’t go back and change things now.

“Hmm, it is something to think about, but do not let those thoughts consume you.” Lorenz said, “What’s done is done, and you can only move forward and tread your own path.”

“Heh, you’re wiser than you look, Lorenz.” Sylvain said, and he laughed when Lorenz pursed his lips.

“And just what do you mean by that?” Lorenz grumbled, an annoyed huff escaping him as he crossed his arms over his chest. Sylvain rolled his eyes and shrugged.

“Dunno. Maybe it’s the haircut.” Sylvain teased, and Lorenz rubbed at the back of his neck and averted his gaze. Sylvain then realized how bad that sounded, given their previous conversation, and he quickly added, “Um, I actually think I can help you with that.”

“With what?”

“Your hair. I could, uh, help you cut it properly when you grow it out more.” Lorenz laughed and shook his head.

“Sylvain, I don’t know if you would be the first person that I would ask to give me a haircut, given that mess that you have atop your head.” Sylvain pouted at him, but when he saw the sly grin Lorenz shot his way, he laughed and ran a hand through his wild orange hair.

“I guess you’ve got a point there. Well, I could probably convince Mercedes or Annette to help you out. They’re pretty good at that sort of thing.”

“Hmm, I might have to take you up on that offer.”

A silence fell between the two men again, and Sylvain gazed up at the star filled sky. Talking with Lorenz had almost made him forget that he tried to brutally maim himself only a short time ago, and he was grateful that Lorenz showed up when he did. Sylvain really had judged Lorenz too harshly.

“Hey, Lorenz?”

“Yes?”

“I think we may have gotten off on the wrong foot when we first met. You’re really not a bad guy.” Lorenz raised an eyebrow at Sylvain and smiled.

“I agree wholeheartedly,” he said as he stood up and offered a hand to Sylvain. Sylvain took it and was helped to his feet, and Lorenz continued, “Would you like to start over? Put all of that unfortunate bickering behind us?” Sylvain nodded and offered his hand to Lorenz again.

“The name’s Sylvain Jose Gautier. Nice to meet you.” he said with a wink. Lorenz chuckled and took his hand, giving it a good shake.

“Likewise. I am Lorenz Hellman Gloucester.” Lorenz said, and Sylvain placed his hands behind his head as he glanced up at the sky again.

“It’s getting kinda late,” he said, and Lorenz nodded in agreement.

“Indeed. Are you going to head to bed, Sylvain?”

“Eh, I’m not really tired...I’m still a bit...worked up from my, er, meltdown.”

“I see. Well,” Lorenz offered his hand to Sylvain once more, “would you care to join me for a late night spot of tea to commemorate the beginning of our new friendship?” A broad smile broke out over Sylvain’s face as he placed his hand in Lorenz’s.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Ah, excellent!” Lorenz said, chuckling as he began to lead Sylvain across the training grounds, “I have procured a rather exquisite batch of Seiros Tea, and was just looking for the right person to share it with.”

“Seiros, huh? That’s actually one of my favorites.” Sylvain raised an eyebrow at the brief look of shock that crossed Lorenz’s face, but Lorenz quickly recovered.

“Really? It is also one of mine. It seems that we have more in common than I thought, Sylvain.”

“Heh, you’re right. We like the same tea, have similar shitty family and crest situations, and have a need for a competent barber.” Sylvain said, and the snort-laugh that erupted from Lorenz caused Sylvain to break into his own fit of laughter.

As their laughter followed them out of the training grounds, Sylvain silently thanked the Goddess that Lorenz had stumbled upon him when he did. With his hand still grasping Lorenz’s, Sylvain couldn’t help but smile at the fact that maybe, just maybe, he had finally found a kindred spirit in his (not as insufferable as he had once thought) rival. And maybe he had even found someone who would judge him by his character, and not by the crest branded on his neck.


End file.
